


Cardinal Chord

by Jenandriel



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crew as Family, EIGHTH BIRD JOHANN FOLKS, Gen, I don't plan on changing canon pairings, Johan (The Adventure Zone) Should Be Spelled Johann, Sibling Bonding, Temporary Character Death, i love my boy johann and i wanna show him a good time, lucretia and johann are half siblings and thats just how it is in this fic, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-08-08 07:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenandriel/pseuds/Jenandriel
Summary: Johann didn't lead a very thrilling life, in his opinion. He was a young bard with few job ambitions and even fewer job opportunities, so when the IPRE opened up applications to become members of a future interplanar crew, he took a chance and applied.He never expected to actually get the job, or to embark on a two-month plane-hopping mission with his half-sister and six other co-workers.(More than one hundred years later, every creature in every corner of reality will be very very glad he did.)





	1. take a look around

**Author's Note:**

> hehey, check it out! i had a thought one day: what if johann was a member of the starblaster crew? wouldn't that be an interesting story? i'd love to read that story.   
> then, i thought: well if you want something done right............. so here we are. and i'm a longwinded fool so i can already promise this is going to be many many chapters. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johann sends in a job application.

"... with this technology, we can venture out, beyond interstellar space, into the planes beyond. With this new Bond engine, maybe, just maybe, we can even surpass the planes, moving onward to the edge of our reality. We can redefine the word ‘explorer’. All we need now... is a crew.”

With a small bow and a murmur of thanks, the angular elf woman lowered her microphone and moved away from the podium at center stage, as the audience leapt to their feet with a roar of approval and thrill. Her words had stirred an excitement in them, the idea of something more, and they were hungry for it. With her prim, pressed suit and impassioned, lyrical words, she had inspired them all. Behind her, the IPRE executives all sat, observing the presentation with pride. 

Johann found himself rising from his seat with the rest of the crowd, clapping along, an unexpectedly large grin on his face. He felt the bardic influence of the speaker but also recognized that the mission of the IPRE was inspirational even without the twinge of musical influence she had added. With the conclusion of this press release, the Institute was opening its doors to applications from folks of all backgrounds, in the hopes that it might form the perfect team. Once assembled, their necessarily close interpersonal dynamics would be the power that drove future spacecrafts beyond the boundaries of the world they all called home. 

Johann didn’t mind admitting to himself how damn cool that idea was, and as he filed out of the auditorium hall with the rest of the guests, he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of being chosen to be a part of that prestigious group. All the science, perhaps, was a bit boring, and he couldn’t actually imagine his own bardic talents would be particularly useful in such a tight-knit group, but it was nice to dream.

On his way out, Johann noticed that on one side of the double doors was a folding table with stacks of papers on it and cups of pens. Behind the table were two people wearing the scarlet IPRE uniforms, and over the edge of the table was draped a banner that read ‘FILL OUT A PRELIMINARY APPLICATION TODAY’. There was a line of people waiting to get forms, capping the pens once completed and handing the applications over. The two employees were filing them away in folders which were quickly becoming stuffed full to the brim. He meandered over near the table, and watched for a moment as a human man finished filling out a page. The man was pale, with a receding hairline and glasses, and as he straightened and moved away from the table he noticed Johann and grinned. 

“Thinking of applying?” He gestured behind him with a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s worth a shot.”

Johann raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me I’m extremely unqualified.”

The man shrugged. “Yeah, I doubt the IPRE want someone with a habit of studying death on their team either, but I figured hey, why not?”

“Studying death?” 

The man glanced away, seeming to be a little embarrassed. “I, uh, got my doctorate in Necromantic Studies.” This was, to say the least, unexpected. The man was wearing denim and a white t-shirt—not exactly phD material, and definitely not necromancer material. 

Johann scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “But you do have a degree. I’ve got a high school diploma and an internship, and besides that, I’m a bard. They wouldn’t have any use for me.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short!” The man returned his gaze to Johann’s. “I know one of the guys on the short list for the Captain position, and he says they’re seriously considering literally everyone. It’s not just introvert scientists, it’s about a cohesive group dynamic. Half of that application I just filled out was asking questions about my personality. I bet they’d like a bard to keep up the group morale.”

That gave Johann pause. “So they don’t all need to be high-powered adventurer types?”

The man laughed. “I think a crew full of those would probably strangle each other within two weeks of working together. The group has to be more diverse, so they can have balance. The more low-energy type personalities will even out the high-strung leader types.”

“Oh,” Johann looked again towards the table. The line was getting shorter as the entry hall was clearing out. There were still a few forms left on the table. “Well...”

The guy stepped aside slightly. “Go for it, you seem cool. And hey, maybe if we both get in, we’ll be working together,” he paused, and then held out a hand. “In which case, my name’s Sildar.”

Johann shook the proffered hand. “Johann. Yeah, I think I might.” Sildar waved a short goodbye before stuffing his hands in his pockets and meandering towards the doors, leaving Johann with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, staring at the application table. 

One of the people behind the table, a stout dwarven woman, caught him staring and called out. “If you’re interested, come apply!”

He moved forward slowly, approaching the table and watching as the last person in the line finished filling out her application. She was a broad, tanned half-orc, with a litany of scars up and down her arms. Leaning against the table next to her was a spear, it’s blade long and glinting in the light filtering in from outside. She straightened and handed over her application just as Sildar had, briefly smiling at the employees behind the table before grabbing her spear and turning away, directly into Johann’s path. She made a noise of surprise, muttering a quick ‘Sorry,’ before brushing past him and out the door, leaving him standing alone in front of the table. There was just one application left.

“Here,” the dwarf woman handed it to him. “You can fill this out now and leave it with us, or later and mail it to the address on the bottom. Due to the amount of applications, you likely won’t hear back unless you’re invited to the first round of group interviews.”

He nodded, taking the form and reading it over. Some of questions were expected, such as a request for a home address, race and class, while others were definitely unusual for a job application. 

_ ‘As a child, what was your favorite hobby?’ _

_ ‘On a scale of one to five, how prepared do you feel you are for the future?’ _

_ ‘Do you consider yourself a leader or a follower? Why?’ _

Johann glanced up at the two employees. “I think I’m gonna take this with me.”

The dwarf woman nodded, running her fingers through her short beard. “Well, make sure not to overthink your responses. There are no right answers to the opinion questions, we want to get a real feel for your personality.”

Johann nodded, sliding the forms into his bag. “Thanks, will do.” After an awkward beat, he nodded again, turning on his heel and making his way outside. Once he had exited, Johann pulled his lapis of farspeech from his pocket and hooked the triangular device over his ear, tuning the frequency to that of his roommate’s. 

“Hey hey, good man, how was the release?” Kio picked up after two rings. “I heard through the berryvine it was going to be impressive.”

Johann chuckled, relaxing at the sound of his friend’s voice. “It was fucking great. The speaker was a bard, she really had the crowd hyped. For a second I was almost convinced to ditch our internship and apply.” He made his way across the perfectly manicured lawn in front of the auditorium hall, following the sidewalk, heading back towards the apartment he shared with three others in the same internship program as him. 

“Right, because the IPRE will pick an eighteen-year-old half-elf whose job experience consists of six months of employee resources filing.”

“Hey listen, I could noodle away at my harp and inspire some aliens to make friends with me.” Johann was only slightly joking. The application form, despite being only three sheets of paper in his bag, seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulder. It was a really great opportunity. 

“Of all the bards applying to the program? You?” Kio’s response, however sarcastic, was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, and he grimaced as he turned a corner, feeling foolish now for getting caught up in the excitement of it all.

“Yeah, right, it’s fun to dream. Anyway, I’m on my way back now.” 

“Oh, I’m not home by the way. Should’ve told you, I scored a date with J’sen! We’re going to the park.” The excitement in his roommate’s voice was clear.

Johann grinned softly, thankful for the change in subject. “Oh yeah? You finally found your chance?”

The conversation quickly meandered away from the subject of the IPRE and their job opportunities. Johann reached the apartment building within twenty minutes, and once he had tossed his bag aside upon stepping in the door, the application had almost completely slipped his mind.  


* * *

That night in his dreams, Johann saw a flock of cardinals.   


* * *

The application didn’t resurface as something to actually do something about until the next afternoon when Johann opened his bag to grab the packed lunch he had tossed in there that morning on the way to work with his roommates. He was on his lunch break, sitting cross-legged on a couch in the small kitchen-lounge-combo provided by the company for the interns, and peering out of his bag at him was the application for the IPRE. 

On the top of the front form in big, bold lettering were the words ‘JOIN THE CREW AND DISCOVER THE SECRETS OF REALITY’. He remembered the scarlet uniforms he’d seen on the employees yesterday, the crisp blazers and pressed pants, and wondered at the style of uniform the chosen explorers would be wearing when they took off to discover those secrets. How would he look in that vibrant red? 

Johann glanced up at the wall clock. He had the half an hour of his lunch break to do this if he was going to. He could put it in the mail on his way home from work and then it would be done with and he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore. Either he’d get invited for the interview or he wouldn’t (and he knew he most likely wouldn’t), so his brain would stop bringing the question back up.

There was a small table in the corner of the room with an assortment of writing utensils scattered on it. The window above the desk was propped open slightly, and he could hear noise from the traffic of people below. 

Before Johann could talk himself out of it, he left his lunch and bag on the couch and moved to sit at the table, grabbing a pen and beginning to fill out the form. 

The first chunk of paperwork was just basic things, nothing unexpected. Medical history, previous employment, educational background. He filled out those details quickly, as there wasn’t much to input. He had an allergy to almonds, but that didn’t really impact his life. His work experience was very brief, just the current paid internship he was doing to keep the lights on until he decided what he wanted to do with his life. 

These days there weren’t a lot of good job opportunities for bards that didn’t involve public speaking and he wasn’t a huge fan of that. He liked to play for people but trying to be a performer as a career move was basically setting himself up for an unstable income. 

The next section was the stuff Sildar had mentioned: the personality questions. There were large blank spots on the pages for lots of writing. For some, it was clear why they were asking, but others seemed completely irrelevant to the application and job process. Johann filled those out too, taking more time on those than he had on the others. He knew the employee who had given him the form had told him to not try to overthink things, but he imagined there definitely could be bad answers to these questions. They would want go-getters, people with some ambition even if they weren’t bigshot extroverts. He would try to remain faithful to himself, keeping his handwriting neat and small so that it wouldn’t take up too much space.

_ ‘As a child, what was your favorite hobby?’ _

This one was easy.  _ ‘I enjoyed music, listening to it and playing it. My mom gave me a set of drums when I was four, but I switched to learning guitar once I was big enough to hold one. I like string instruments best. I also liked painting, specifically fingerpainting. It was fun to get my hands all multicolored and smear the colors all over the pages.’ _

_ ‘On a scale of one to five, how prepared do you feel you are for the future?’ _

_ ‘I’d say a two. I don’t know where I’m going at all.’  _ That didn’t seem very good. It made him sound like he had no ambition. ‘ _ I actually like that though, because it does leave me open to take any opportunity that comes my way.’ _

_ ‘Do you consider yourself a leader or a follower? Why?’ _

_ ‘I haven’t had much opportunity to lead in life yet. I’m good at following. Sometimes it’s okay to not have the answers. I guess I could be a good leader, maybe?’ _

_ ‘What’s your family like? Are you close? Does your family have a more traditional structure, or more unconventional?’ _

This gave him pause. Why did they care about his family? He wasn’t sure at first how different familial dynamics could possibly relate to being an interstellar scientist, before remembering they wanted well-adjusted team members as well. Someone with shittons of baggage from shitty family members might be more trouble for the bonding part of the Bond engine’s process than they’re worth. He considered his family, and supposed it wouldn’t hurt to be honest. He gave the matter a moment’s more thought, deciding where to start. 

_ ‘My mom’s human, my dad’s an elf. He’s her second husband. Mom works in banking, Dad runs a farm. My mom left my dad and I when I was fourteen, and now she’s off somewhere. She visits sometimes, but it’s always a bit chaotic when she does. She’s very high-strung, a little bit too perfectionist. My dad lives out in the country in my childhood home. I think I’m more like him, more relaxed than Mom is. _

_ I don’t have any full siblings but my mom does have a daughter from her first marriage, she’s fully human and two years older than me. I haven’t really ever gotten to know her that well, we lived apart all our lives and I don’t think we have much in common. Her dad runs a really lucrative publishing company. I think she’s an author working for him, last I heard she was ghostwriting for some big-name people. Beyond that, I just have various aunts and uncles and cousins, but I don’t know any of them well at all.’  _

_ 'What’s your ideal way to spend a free afternoon?’ _

This was something more his speed. ' _ I like to take walks, or work on compositions. I’m not really a social guy, but sometimes my roommates and I will go on picnics to the park, or take weekend trips to the lake. I usually do my best writing outside, where I can get natural sounds from the world around me.’ _

The questions went on for the next two pages, asking about his passions ( _ music _ ), and if he had any weird phobias ( _ nothing recurring _ ), and how he felt about current events ( _ I try to avoid the stress _ ). 

_ ‘What is something about yourself that you would like us to know? What about you stands out?’ _

He had to really think about this question. This was probably his only real opportunity to stand out from the crowd, to make himself seem memorable. They were likely going to get a lot of applications like this one: kids looking for opportunities at any turn and manifesting silly dreams in their heads about becoming someone worth remembering. He looked down at himself, in his simple office getup, unassuming black pants and professional white blouse. His fingers were dry from filing paperwork all morning. His left hand’s fingers specifically were also callused from long hours fiddling with guitars and cellos and harps and other string instruments. He reached up with his right hand to tug at a strand of his hair, the curls exploding out of the black scrunchie he had used to tame it that morning to keep the wild, casual shake-and-go afro style from blocking his vision. He picked at the gently pointed tip of his right ear. 

Outside, a bird chirped. He stared at the clouds drifting by and listened to the city people as they lived their lives as he was attempting to live his. He was hoping something might occur to him because of something out there, but nothing came to mind. In that moment, he realized it was possible to feel even more thoroughly unimpressive than he already did.

He looked back at the page. The blank space was glaring at him, expecting something he didn’t have. Maybe, though, that was okay. Maybe they would appreciate his honesty. Others might try too hard to suck up, and maybe someone just honestly being a shitty candidate would be refreshing. It was, frankly, his only hope. After a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged. Fuck it.

_ ‘Honestly, I’ve got nothing. Maybe one day I’ll have something better, but in my defense, I’m eighteen. Right now, I’m a blank fuckin' sheet.’ _

* * *

Once the form was in the mail, Johann didn’t give it more thought, and the rest of the week passed without a response from the IPRE. He didn’t worry about it, though. He was sure it would take more than a few days to pick the first set of candidates considering they’d opened up applications to literally half of the fucking world. 

He hardly expected to get anything back anyway, considering the sorry state of the application he had sent in.

That’s why, nearly three weeks later, when the thing had pretty much been written off completely as a lost cause and a silly story to mention to his roommates, he was (to put it mildly) shocked as hell when he came home from work one day to find a bright red envelope in his mailbox, addressed to him and everything.

The first round of interviews was going to be that weekend, and the IPRE wanted him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this is gonna be a doozy. i love my boy Johann like a son and i think he deserves the world so i figured hey. i gotta be the one to put this shit on paper. expect some good good angst and even gooder drama and the most top tier love!!!!!!
> 
> i'm trying to mcfuckin' relax because i've discovered i tend to go overkill with post chapter notes. please leave a comment if you enjoy, it's what keeps me #motivated.
> 
> luv y'all
> 
> \- verlaine


	2. all things green and brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only the first round of interviews, and Johann's already meeting new folks.

How does one dress for the opportunity of a lifetime? Johann had laid out his entire wardrobe three times that week leading up to the Saturday of the interview, and he was pretty sure Kio thought he was losing his goddamn mind. Johann wasn’t planning to tell his roommates about the situation unless he got the job, because while they (probably?) wouldn’t mock him for somehow qualifying for the interview stage at least, he would feel personally embarrassed at not being able to follow up that success with actually getting the position he was trying for.

In the many hours he spent thinking back on his application, he couldn’t riddle out what the fuck he had written that made him sound like a potential interstellar scientist. Perhaps calling himself ‘a blank fuckin’ sheet’ had made it seem like he was someone not easily stressed about unnecessary things, someone who wouldn’t cause too much trouble and still be flexible enough to learn the job. He hoped that they wouldn’t try to train him in something for which he had no skill. But then again, he also worried about assuming too much, jumping in trying to be something they didn’t need and not representing himself well.

To sum it up, he was a ball of anxiety until he woke up Saturday morning. He wasn’t usually prone to the level of worry he was experiencing. Generally, he was in the habit of just trusting that no amount of effort on his part would change whatever path fate decided he would take, but at some point that week, it dawned on him that he was potentially facing a complete life change.

A little bit after that realization, it dawned on him that he really, really, sincerely wanted to get to work for the IPRE. Even if they didn’t pick him to work on the crew, he would at least try to be a mail guy or a secretary or something. He’d never before felt like he was being shown an opportunity to do something impactful with his life, but the IPRE was the premier science institute in the world, and since the Light of Creation had descended onto Tosun earlier that year, the Institute had been at the forefront of incredible new discoveries. It was a place someone could have a real purpose in the world.  
  
This drive was unusual for him. Johann’s childhood had been tame, not exciting or particularly a struggle, just sort of coasting through his education as painfully average, with the clear exception being his musical talents. He’d taken up bardic magic as a follow-up to that ability; nothing else felt natural. Despite feeling the pressure of his father’s elven family to find a path and truly excel in it, he couldn’t find himself to be bothered one way or another.

He knew his half-sister led a different life. She had been fortunate in being born to a wealthy father whose connections allowed her writing abilities to flourish, even if she was doing it from the shadows under bigger and more famous names. His own father, as supportive as he was, didn’t carry any particular weight on his name and Johann sometimes wondered at the number of connections and opportunities he could have gotten with his music if he had someone with the resources to share them.

Their mutual mother was, while perhaps a savvy businesswoman, not nearly as adept at the mothering of her children. She paid Johann’s father for his quality education, out of pocket, and ensured they were never concerned for bills or food on the table. Only through a handful of forced family gatherings and holidays had Johann and Lucretia ever been given a chance to interact, and so while he was given updates about her life through their mother, he knew little else about her as a person beyond that. He remembered a quiet, studious girl, notoriously reclusive.

He wondered how his half-sister might react, in some hypothetical future where luck was on his side, to learn that he had leapt from being quite distinctly average to someone extraordinary enough to be chosen to explore the outer reaches of reality.

He pondered things like this and other wild extrapolations, until his mind seemed so overwhelmed with the ponderings that he woke early Saturday morning, and jogged around the block a couple of times to get himself to calm down. He didn’t want to over-think so much he talked himself out of even showing up.

Upon returning to his wardrobe dilemma, he recognized that he had spent the week completely overthinking his presentation. Of course, all the employees would be in the IPRE uniform, so as long as he looked professional and qualified, nobody would give half a damn about style. After only a moment’s more deliberation, he decided ‘fuck it’ and just threw on some simple black dress pants and one of his higher quality traditional bardic blouses, a deep green piece with billowing sleeves and intricate gold threading embroidery. His hair he elected to not pull back, and instead shook it out so that the curls were evenly distributed once he added a matching emerald cap with a small feather in it.

He didn’t have to spend any time on deciding what instrument to bring, however. His (frankly gorgeous) rosewood violin, a gift from his father when he’d told him about his interest in music and being a bard, was absolutely going with him. This first round of interviews was an all-day thing, starting early in the day and moving through lunch and into the evening, and if Johann couldn’t do anything else to pass the time, he would absolutely play to relax. Plus, what’s the point of supposedly being a bard worth hiring if you show up without the shit to prove it?

* * *

The double doors to the conference room were propped open when Johann walked in, having found the space after only a few moments of confusion after passing through security with little conflict. Large signs with arrows had escorted him down the halls until the sounds of people had led the rest of the way. The room was littered with round tables and chairs, with a podium similar to that from the press release against the far wall of the room, where there were four chairs lined up behind it.

Right inside the door was a line of long rectangular tables, covered with printed name tags on one end and an assortment of buffet foods on the other. Johann found his name tag and observed the crowd as he pinned it to his shirt. He noticed that there didn’t seem to be any IPRE employees in the room, just an extremely varied assortment of candidates. He saw people of all races and classes—paladins with their various holy symbols, orc rogues and halfling fighters, sorcerers, and even a smattering of bards throughout the room. Some of these musicians were softly murmuring away at their various instruments, giving the space a gently chaotic soundtrack of dissonant and uncoordinated melodies. Johann was pleased to notice he was the only bard who had brought a violin.

There didn’t seem to be any particular leadership in the room yet, given that at the table positioned in the center, there was a cluster of folks, mostly fighters, rangers, and barbarians, who had made themselves comfortable leading rounds of arm wrestling. Currently up against each other was a young human man, likely a fighter judging by his size and style, going against a half-orc woman—Johann recognized her scarred arms and bob haircut, and remembered her bumping into him at the press release on her way out the door.

The human man appeared comically outmatched, just by the fact that the woman was about a head and a half taller than him (and he was already considerably tall for a human) and half a foot wider, but he seemed to be holding his own with little effort, holding some conversation and making jokes with his adversary. He had fairly substantial sideburns and a smattering of the beginnings of a beard, his dark hair pulled back in a small bun, and he wore a button-up shirt whose arms had both been torn off. His were impressive arms; the man was built like a brick shithouse.

As Johann watched, the man threw a playful look around the room. The only indication of effort on his part was a vein in his brow pulsing, and the white knuckles on his free hand, which gripped the edge of the table. He brushed his gaze along the buffet line, considering the rows of food, before sweeping along to the end of the table where Johann stood. They made eye contact, the man grinned, and suddenly the young half-elf felt as if two wrestling games were happening at once, and he had been drawn in without his permission.

With a wordless shout, smiling devilishly all the while, the man shifted his weight just slightly, flexing his shoulder, and the seeming physical impasse between him and the half-orc woman changed. Suddenly, her wrist twitched, and the back of her hand went crashing down hard on the tabletop; she crowed with a good-natured laugh of defeat. At that, he stood, patting her on the back and laughing some response, moving away from the group of challengers which had wormed their way into a line as if prepared to spend the day taking turns.

He waved away their protests at his opting out of the game, as he maneuvered towards the end of the long tables where all the buffet foods were. With comical efficiency, he gathered together a heaping plate of sandwiches, brownies, and cookies. Once finished at the buffet line, he drifted over to where Johann still stood in front of the assortment of name tags, watching him approach warily.

“Hey, y’know, I think if I arm wrestled you I would probably just fucking snap you like a twig.” The man hadn’t stopped grinning since they had first made eye contact, a goofy, friendly smile that was contagiously open. Up close, he was clearly over a foot taller than Johann, a fact they apparently both had observed. Humans possessed a remarkable capacity for variety in size and shape.

The man shifted his plate to his left hand and stuck out his right for a shake. “I’m Magnus Burnsides, I’m a fighter. I’m assuming you’re of the musical variety?”

Johann blinked, bristling, thrown off by the unexpected greeting. For a moment, this warmly extroverted approach wiped his head clear of all thoughts. Where to start with a response?

Magnus hesitated at Johann’s pause, glancing down at his own hand, still extended for a shake. “Sorry, uh, too much?”

That brought Johann back to reality, and he quickly reached out and shook Magnus’ hand, attempting to meet the firm grasp with one of equal strength, and failing miserably. “No, I mean, you’re fine, I just—like, you were just arm wrestling? And you ditched that to come over here?”

They dropped their hands, Magnus using his to grab a cookie which had been, up until that point, teetering precariously on the edge of toppling completely off the pile on his plate. He took a bite while he responded. “Yeah, I feel like it’s a fun way to get to know people? Like, at least among the more athletic classes.” He pointed the half of the cookie he had yet to eat at Johann. “You don’t seem like the type though.”

A confused laugh burst from Johann’s throat. “Uh, no? I’m a bard?”

“That’s fine! I mean, I assumed, given the viola.” Magnus finished the cookie and inspected his plate to decide which of the mound of delicacies to eat next. “I don’t literally ask everyone to do that. Seemed like the right idea when I got here? But also, like, I get that not everyone does that. You still haven’t told me your name, dude.”

Again, they made eye contact, and Johann felt like he was being assessed by far too optimistic an eye. Johann decided the universe was offering him an ally, so… fuck it. “My name’s Johann, and it’s a violin, not a viola. Violas are bigger. I’m... not really sure what’s going on.” His fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the strap that crossed his chest, holding his violin case on his back.

“Whoops, sorry. Well, I was here like an hour ago, waaaaay before all this started. They just herded the early birds in here and were like ‘just get to know each other until we begin.” Magnus shrugged noncommittally. “I guess it makes sense since whoever they pick has to be friends by the end of it. Hungry?” He held the plate out to Johann. He didn’t need to move it far, though, as there were only about two feet of space between them.

Johann assessed the plate and then, with a brief glance at Magnus’ face, reached out and took the brownie on the edge closest to him. “We just get to know everybody?” The brownie was near-perfect, with a soft center and a good, chewy outer crust. Something was missing, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

“I mean, probably not everybody?” Magnus looked around the room. “There’s, what, like fifty people here? I’m assuming some of the elimination will be done by the IPRE.”

Johann looked around too. “How long have people been here? I thought I was on time, but it seems like literally everyone got here before me. There’s still name tags set out but...”

Magnus opened his mouth to say one thing, but then glanced over Johann’s shoulder. “Yeah, I—oh, no, you’re not the last one in.”

Johann turned back towards where he had come in through the double doors to see Sildar there, the man who had introduced himself back at the press release. He was wearing the same exact jeans and t-shirt combo as before, plus a grey blazer and a small black briefcase. He seemed to have been jogging, as he was panting slightly. Johann raised a hand in greeting, and as Sildar paused with a hand on one knee to catch his breath, he responded with a small wave of his own. After a moment, he started to head over.

“Do you know him?” Magnus asked, and Johann turned again to face him.

“We met at the IPRE’s press release. He’s the one who convinced me to apply.”

Magnus hummed. “Nice! I didn’t go to that, but I wanted to.” He paused, suddenly, as if he’d had an unpleasant thought, and got a softer look around his eyes as he looked at the bard. “By the way, now that he’s here, if you’d rather chill with someone you know, that’s cool. I can mingle with other folks.”

Johann’s mouth opened slightly as he frowned with confusion. “Why would I—” Johann stopped talking when Sildar slipped between the two men to find his name tag.

“Hey, guys,” he said, quickly identifying and attaching the tag to his shirt. He stepped back, putting more distance between him and the other two. “Sorry to interrupt. How late am I? The security people got persnickety about some of the, ah, paraphernalia I was bringing in.”

“What the hell was in the bag?” Magnus asked, shifting his angle to be slightly facing the both of them, bending somewhat to squint at Sildar’s name tag. “Also, you’re not really late I guess—is your name pronounced Sil’dar or Sil-dar?”

Sildar stuttered briefly at the unexpected approach. “Sil-dar. But honestly? I’m not attached to it.”

“Oh, cool! I’m never gonna remember the full shit anyways, I’ll call you Darry. I’m Magnus Burnsides.”

Sildar shook the hand offered to him with a confused but nevertheless friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Magnus. Darry’s… fine?” He glanced around. “Should we grab a table somewhere?”

Johann watched the exchange with mild amusement, feeling less strange about Magnus’ seemingly boundary-lacking friendliness now that he saw that it extended to most everyone he met. There had been a brief—a very, very brief—moment where he had thought Magnus was flirting with him, and he wasn’t sure how to respond to that kind of attention in this kind of situation. At Sildar’s (Darry? Seriously?) question, he nodded, and Magnus led them towards a table in the back of the room that was still empty.

Johann was halfway across the room, following behind the two humans as they chatted when he heard a rough shout from the table where the arm-wrestlers were still gathered. He glanced back to see what was going on and simultaneously ran into the back of a chair in his path, catching himself on the back of it and grabbing the shoulder of the person sitting in it.

As he turned back to apologize, he felt a hand wrap a tight grip around his wrist. He glanced down at the same time that the person in the chair jumped up and into his space, and before he could look at them enough to recognize more than a blur of platinum curls and a soft green knit sweater, they were exclaiming his name and wrapping him in a hug. Johann froze, feeling angular arms digging into his shoulders, and his free hand rose to pull at the arms and step away from the stranger intruding in his space.

“Uh, what the fuck?” He laughed nervously, and immediately they let go and stepped back. He recognized her as soon as he got a clear view of her face, seeing the deep umber brown tones in her skin that were echoed in the golden tones of his own, and looking into eyes with the same hooded almond shape as his mother’s. She was about seven inches taller than him, but the resemblance was still there, and he exhaled a sigh. “Gods, Lucretia, what the fuck? Warn a dude before you jump them like that.”

“Shit, sorry!” his half-sister’s face was frozen by harried anxiety. Her hands, no longer touching him, were pulled close against her chest. “I just—you bumped into my chair, and I recognized you, and I wasn’t expecting to recognize anyone and...”

Johann took another step back, his head tilting slightly as he squinted in confusion. “You hugged me.”

Lucretia blinked, her face falling. She seemed to suddenly realize where she was. “I, well, yes, but I—I mean, it’s still—”

“Johann!” Magnus’ voice called from beyond Lucretia, and he appeared right behind her as if manifested by the awkward situation. She flinched, spinning, and then let out a small noise of surprise as she saw that this stranger towered over her by more than half a foot. Once again, Magnus seemed somewhat uncomprehending of personal boundaries, standing unnervingly close. This height imbalance was likely unusual for her, as she was already relatively tall for humans, standing at an even six feet. Magnus looked over her with an appropriate level of confusion, before looking back at the bard. “Johann, we found a table, are you coming? Who’s this?”

Johann massaged his temples for a moment. “Yeah, I’m, uh. Sorry, Magnus, I was—this is my half-sister, Lucretia.” He gestured towards her with one hand while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. “She fuckin’ ambushed me just now.” He was having trouble processing the situation all of a sudden; now, instead of one eager human stranger, or two friendly human strangers, he was faced with two human strangers and his own human relative, with whom he had very little connection. And really, the day had barely begun, and he was supposed to be interviewing for a job, so what the fuck?

Magnus sputtered, his eyebrows skyrocketing up as he re-assessed the woman standing before him. Behind him, Sildar peeked around his shoulder, his eyes wide. “Your sister? Ambushed you?”

“Half-sister,” Johann and Lucretia both replied at the same time. She continued her response, saying, “We have the same human mother, but his dad’s an elf.”

Magnus opened his mouth to speak, before catching himself, apparently re-evaluating whatever he planned to say. Johann saw Magnus’ eyes flit from Lucretia’s name tag to Johann’s own, noticing the different last names and towns of origin.

There was an extremely strange silence, and then Sildar spoke up, his slightly gravelly tones breaking through like static.

“Well... it’s a bit weird to just stand here. Why don’t we all go sit? I think it’s about to get started.” He gestured to the aforementioned chosen table, where his briefcase already marked possession of a seat.

Johann was immediately grateful for the opportunity, squeezing past the trio without a second glance at them. “Yeah, let’s sit. Let’s super fucking sit.”

“Johann—" Lucretia was immediately behind him, but he ignored her in favor of finding a seat which allowed him to lean back against the wall, with a view of the whole room. Nobody could sneak up on him when his back was against the wall.

As he sat, and laid his violin case out on the table in front of him, he saw Magnus and Sildar exchange brief glances and a silent conversation as they took their own seats, Magnus to Johann’s right and Sildar to Magnus’ right. Sildar waved a hand in Lucretia’s direction and mouthed something, and Magnus made the universal shrugging gesture that reads loud and clear as wild confusion. Clearly, the guy had a problem with subtlety.

Lucretia, however, hadn’t noticed the exchange, conspicuously choosing the seat next to Johann’s left, and he noticed for the first time as she sat that she was carrying—her bag. It was the same exact messenger bag as the one he usually carried. A terrible, strange feeling bubbled up in his stomach as he recognized the stitching and brand, and he was grateful that his own bag was sitting at home.

“That’s my bag,” he blurted out, his hands freezing on the zipper of the violin case. Lucretia froze too, in the middle of removing a pair of journals from the bag with extreme care. Her eyes searched his face as if hoping that somewhere in there, they would find a joke.

“No?” If she had been puzzled before, it didn’t compare to the sheer lack of comprehension in her tone now. “It’s my bag?”

Saying it out loud suddenly felt monumentally stupid as she looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “No, I mean. I have the exact same bag. Like, same brand and all that.”

She shifted, her face smoothing out in sudden comprehension. “Oh, shit. Did Mom give you yours too?”

Johann had forgotten how he had acquired the bag until that moment, and he was drawn back to a memory of his eleventh Candlenights. He remembered being pleasantly surprised at finding the beautiful blue satchel wrapped in the mailbox, with a brief note from his mother inside, apologizing for her conspicuous absence and promising more gifts upon her return. There had been more gifts, he remembered now, but they’d all been things he couldn’t bring with him into adulthood, not in the same way he could use that bag for years to come. It was threadbare now, and needed some repairs, but remained well-loved and extremely functional.

The terrible feeling in his gut suddenly became recognizable. The thought that it hadn’t been a unique gift (and that his mother had possibly sent the exact same note of apology and placating gifts to Lucretia) soured the fuck out of that memory. He wasn’t bitter with his half-sister, particularly, but it was kind of disheartening to understand that their mother had really gotten so lazy with them that she hadn’t even bothered to find them unique gifts.

“Damn,” he muttered, chastened. “She did.” He was embarrassed that it hadn’t been immediately apparent to him.

Lucretia pursed her lips in a wry grimace, intoning, “Well. Doesn’t that make us feel special?”

This response caught Johann off-guard, shocking him with the bitterness in her tone. “What?”

Lucretia finished removing the journals from her bag as she replied, also pulling out two identical pens. Her movements had a sudden sharpness to them. “I just mean, I suppose, that it would be nice for once to think Mom did anything consistently thoughtful. Ever.” She punctuated the final word with a graceful brushing gesture that swept the now-empty bag off the seat and onto the floor.

The three men at the table watched the bag topple over the edge with almost comical shock. Johann couldn’t formulate a response, hearing a muttered ‘hot damn’ from Magnus.

It hadn’t ever occurred to the half-elf that he might not be the only one harboring a degree of resentment towards his mother. He’d always assumed that Lucretia had been so awash in money and opportunities that she hadn’t been as wanting as he for the presence of a functional maternal figure.

There was a new silence, more grating than the one before, and Johann took that time to finish removing his violin from its case. He was eager to fill the quiet with something more pleasant than this mutual frustration he now realized he and his half-sister shared, so he began to tune the instrument to give himself something to do with his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Lucretia reached out and opened both journals at the same time, a pen posed between fingers in each hand.

“So,” Sildar seemed to have the same idea as Johann, as he spoke up then, with the kind of perkiness a person uses to try to bring a depressing subject back to something even slightly less so. “This is pretty crazy, huh? You two grow up apart, then both apply for the same job?”

Lucretia looked up as if for the first time realizing the other two humans at the table had actually joined them, and her dark skin flushed with a slight burgundy. “Yes, um, it is actually an incredible coincidence. Like I said before, I wasn’t expecting to actually know anyone.” She spoke much more softly than before, seeming to have lost her ire in the face of strangers.

“Actually,” Magnus then spoke up, addressing the whole table. He leaned forward a little, placing both hands on the table, splaying out his fingers. “It _is_ wild that you know someone. Can we just, like, go around and say names and who knows who and why we all applied? I’m the only one here who’s just meeting y’all since everyone seems to know Johann, and I’m starting to lose track, and we’re supposed to get to know each other anyways.”

Johann paused in the middle of tuning and looked up, raising an eyebrow with a small smile, amused at the suggestion. “That sounds like the dumb icebreaker games we had to do first day of school. That’s adorable.”

Magnus shrugged. “I figure we just get straight to the point. I don’t know how much longer we’re supposed to just hang out and chat before they start actually interviewing us.”

“They didn’t tell anyone?” Sildar asked.

Magnus shook his head. “Nah. C’mon y’all, let’s do names!”

“Alright, alright.” Johann set the violin back into the open case on the table, leaving it perched there for future use. “You start, Magnus, if you’re so eager. What’s your story?”

Magnus grinned, excited, and sat back in his chair. “Yeah, so my name is Magnus, Magnus Burnsides. I’m a fighter, y’know, I worked as a bouncer for a bit and then heard about this job, and thought ‘hey, what if there’s fights to be had in other planes?’. So I applied. Plus, I really have nothing else to do, so I thought this would be a cool way to switch it up. I honestly didn’t think I’d hear back.”

Sildar leaned forward, interested. “A bouncer? What kind of people did you work for?”

Magnus waved a dismissive hand. “Clubs, concerts, shit like that. It paid the bills. I didn’t actually get to do much fighting, which bummed me out because, I mean, look at me.” He gestured to himself. Johann didn’t mind appreciating Magnus’ tanned and scarred arms, in all their wild glory.

“Gosh, Magnus,” Johann grinned, tilting his head. “Why am I getting the strong feeling you love fighting?”

“I _love fighting!_ ” Magnus exclaimed, throwing his hands up, either not reading the dripping sarcasm in the bard’s voice or reading it and choosing to embrace the sentiment. At the tables around them, a few folks glanced over at his outcry, before returning to their own chatter.

“Okay, okay,” Sildar laughed. “My turn next?”

Magnus swept a gracious and playful arm at the older man. “Yeah, go for it, Darry!”

“Well, my name is Sildar Hallwinter, though—fucking, Darry, what an awful nickname. It’s fine, it’s hilarious. Johann already knows this, but I’ve got my Ph.D. in Necromantic Studies.” Sildar paused as Magnus let out an incredulous cry.

“Are you serious?” Magnus leaned close. “I didn’t know you were a doctor, and here I am giving you a dumbass nickname!”

Then it was Lucretia’s turn to sound incredulous. “Magnus, how are you focusing more on the fact that he has a doctorate than the fact that he got it in necromancy?”

“I’m teaching it a little also,” Sildar continued, a little bashful. “at local colleges. But it’s mostly to help fund a book I’m writing on the subject, kind of a passion project? I’m hoping to go through Gentileschi Publishers to get it printed since they’re the biggest name in town for that sort of thing.”

At this, Lucretia perked up. Were she not fully human, Johann could imagine her ears twitching upright. “Gentileschi Publishers?” She repeated after Sildar, leaning forward in her seat. The two journals sat in front of her, so far empty. “That’s my father’s company!”

“No kidding!” Sildar gave her his full attention now. “Do you think—I mean, if it’s not too much to ask—”

“No, no, do you want me to give him the manuscript when it’s done? I’ve published a bunch, I’m happy to help other writers get their work out there.” Lucretia’s discomfort once again seemed to vanish once she was talking about a passion. Johann felt a bit put out at the conversation being pulled around to once again remind him of all of his half-sister’s many advantages in life, but he didn’t express it at all. He knew that for Sildar, this connection was the kind of career opportunity that never came around but for once in a lifetime, and Johann would hate for someone’s bitterness to get in the way of his own success. Plus the rational corner of his brain reminded him that it truly wasn’t Lucretia’s fault she had all the connections and blessings she did possess; she was merely very fortunately placed for her abilities.

“Shit, that would be amazing,” Sildar was grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me until you’re published.” Lucretia’s grin matched his.

“Aw, this is so cool!” Magnus had been smiling before, but the thrill in his tone was even more evident now. “I love shit like this. Okay, Johann, your turn!”

Johann paused a moment to catch his breath, and opened his mouth to explain himself and his presence at the interviews when suddenly a clock on the wall began to chime the hour. 9 o’ clock. At the same moment, the doors on the other ends of the room slid shut.

There was a noise of a throat being cleared, and the whole room fell silent as they all turned and saw, at the podium, a gnome in the crimson of the IPRE. He was tanned and red-headed, with a thick mustache. His uniform was slightly more decorated than the simple blazer Johann had so far seen on various IPRE employees.

“Hello, everyone,” the gnome smiled at the room, a friendly and open look on his face. “Welcome to the IPRE, and to the first round of interviews. I am Captain Davenport; I am one of three captains who will be selecting crews for missions. Over the next few hours, I will meet with each of you in turn, and gain some insight into your individual characters. If you are not being interviewed, please mingle and meet each other. Please note that this time is not idle time—you are being observed for specific crew-worthy traits the entire time you are in this room. I am looking forward to the opportunity to meet each of you one-on-one.”

He paused for a few moments, glancing around and meeting the eyes of each person present, before leaning forward to the microphone.

“Good luck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so chapter two was gonna cover more time, but i never say something in one paragraph that i could say in four, so it ended up getting split up a bit. i figured y'all would rather have more frequent updates, and i know i need the good good validation to keep writing, so here we are.
> 
> planning this whole story out has resulted in me realizing how little worldbuilding the stolen century actually gives us to work with, especially with regards to the science of the bond engine, the details of the starblaster, their homeworld, their backstories, and the most fundamental character details like last names and heights and shit. me being the idiot that i am, i've decided i'm gonna do this right, so i'm wholesale crafting that shit myself. i hope my explanations are satisfying! it'll mostly come in the next chunk of chapters before they leave home (which will take a hot minute to happen considering how much worldbuilding needs to happen).
> 
> in the spirit of my musical son, i've created a playlist for this story also. it follows the whole plot in order, and if y'all want it, i'll link it in the notes of chapter three!
> 
> once again, please comment if you enjoyed (or honestly even if you didn't. i take constructive criticism)
> 
> luv y'all
> 
> \- verlaine


	3. they are here to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interviews begin, and Johann's circle widens.

With that wish of good will, Captain Davenport stepped back and away from the podium. It was as he did so, and as he left the room entirely, that Johann noticed the sliding step-stool that the gnome had used to reach the microphone. Upon the Captain stepping away, it slid neatly into the platform one step, adjusting so that a small tiefling—taller than the Captain but still shorter than average—could replace him.

She was in the general IPRE uniform (the scarlet color of which became particularly striking in contrast to her own lilac-toned skin) and carrying a clipboard containing a thick stack of papers, made thicker by various folds and crumples in each page. The pages seemed well handled, as if they had been read, reread, and read again, each detail pored over to be given complete consideration.

“I’ll bet those are our applications,” Darry murmured, leaning into the group to keep his voice from traveling.

Lucretia glanced back at him briefly, then returned her gaze to the podium, humming a small agreement. “They’ll likely call us out alphabetically by last name.”

Magnus leaned close as well, whispering conspiratorially, “If they do that, I’m going up, like, immediately.”

Johann nodded, dropping his voice as well, “And I’m gonna be almost last.”

The tiefling adjusted the microphone for a brief moment, clearing her throat to maintain the attention of the room. Her badge flashed, reflecting the overhead lights as she raised her arm to bring the clipboard close to her face, studiously inspecting something on the first page. When she moved to speak, Johann was surprised by the lilting, thick accent that came out, sharpening consonants and vowels alike. The good news is that she was about 80% comprehensible.

“Hello!” She grinned, bright and cheery. “I will be calling ze names of ze candidates during ze day, in ze order zat zeir interfiew with the Captain will take place. Pleaze pay attention when I am at ze podium. Thank you.” She lifted the clipboard close once more, and, still inspecting it extremely carefully, as if fearful of mispronouncing the name, she leaned in and said, “M’ranath Aisel! Follow me to your interfiew.”

Heads turned indiscriminately as the people in the conference room searched to see who it was who had the unfortunate luck of being the first one on the list. At one of the tables in the back, there was a small noise of surprise, and then a young drow stood, nervously adjusting the tie of his gray suit and gathering up a beige folder. The tiefling smiled prettily at him, and then hopped down from the podium and left the room, gesturing with the clipboard for him to follow her through the double doors.

The conversation in the room sprung back to life immediately as everyone began speculating as to the details of the interview process.

“Gods, this is going to take all day. I don’t know if my anxiety can handle it,” Darry grumbled, putting his face in his hands and massaging his eyes.

“There are, what, fifty people in this room?” Lucretia sat up straight, stretching her neck and raising one arm to count heads. “Forty-five. Even if each interview is only ten minutes, that’s still only six people an hour. This _will_ take a while.”

Johann grimaced. “I didn’t, like, bring a big resumé. Do you think that’ll be a problem?”

Lucretia shook her head. “I think the solo interviews aren’t really the point; if they were, they would have spread them out over weeks to have more time.”

“Yeah,” Magnus spoke up. “We’re supposed to be bonding with people. The real shit is happening in here.”

Johann nodded, forming air quotes with his fingers. “Right, those ‘specific crew-worthy traits’.”

“What’d y’all think of Davenport? Couldn’t get a read on him.” Magnus asked, resting his elbow on the table and putting his chin in one hand.

“He appeared friendly enough,” Lucretia replied. “But I suppose we’ll have to wait. He seemed to wish us well, genuinely? But it’s hard to tell how someone will be in this setting.”

“Right, right,” Magnus agreed. “Everyone’s on their best business-like behavior.”

“He could be a really shitty boss but makes a good first impression,” Johann added. “I thought my current supervisor was sane until my friend messed up a small project and she went batshit on him.”

Lucretia looked over, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “What happened to him?”

“He got transferred to a different internship,” Johann shrugged. “He’s lucky, his new boss is really chill.”

“I had a department head interrupt a class once to tell me, to my face, that they disagreed with my latest paper’s position on the function of jacinth in astral projection rituals,” Darry spoke up, raising his head from where it had been resting in his hands. “They embarrassed me in front of my students, and then they went in front of the board and told them they felt I wasn’t fit to teach there. It was humiliating.”

“Fucking seriously??” Magnus cried, his voice shooting up an octave. “What a dick!” Lucretia and Johann both made sounds of agreement. A few heads turned at the tables around them to glance over.

“Yeah,” Darry continued, his voice fairly calm for someone recounting what seemed to be a tale of academic sabotage. “I tried not to take it personally, but after spending almost two decades in the field, _I might have started getting a bit attached to my opinions on the subject._ So I went to their office and defended the paper’s position for three hours until they relented that I may have been a little bit right.”

“Fucking, shit, Darry,” Johann responded, incredulous. “The nerd bites back.”

“I don’t think I have the guts to argue with my boss like that.” Lucretia murmured, almost too quiet to hear, as if she didn’t know she was speaking out loud. The men looked over to see her sitting with both journals open in front of her, furiously jotting something down. Her hands were moving incredibly quickly across the pages, and Johann had to blink for a moment to make sure he wasn’t seeing double, but no, she really was—

“Are you writing with both hands at the same time?” Magnus shot out of his seat, leaning forward over the table to get a closer look. Lucretia jumped slightly at the sudden movement, looking up as if she had forgotten she could be under inspection.

“Yes, um, I taught myself how in school.” As she replied, her hands released the pens onto the pages, fingers splaying out to cover and block them from Magnus’ sight.

“That’s incredible!” Darry said, leaning forward as well, excitement getting the better of him, “And your handwriting looks—both—both hands write the same?”

“How long did it take to learn? Can I see?” Magnus asked eagerly. She hesitated, growing more rigid, and he saw that and continued. “Would you rather not? Sorry, that’s cool, I don’t mean to pry if that’s private.”

Johann remained silent, seeing a guarded look in his half-sister’s eyes, and he recognized a hesitance to share. These journals, her writing, was her pride in much the same way his own book of compositions was.

Lucretia stared at her own books for a moment, as if weighing the costs, glancing around the table to meet each of their eyes for a moment. Magnus moved to sit again, and she held up a hand to stop him. “No, no, uh… yeah, you can come look. If any of you want, you can.”

A grin split the fighter’s face from ear to ear, and he carefully extricated himself from his chair (which had tangled in his legs when he had leapt to his feet so suddenly) and made his way around the table to look over her shoulder.

Darry stood, much more slowly, and followed. Johann was the last of the three men to move, simply shuffling his chair on the carpeted floor to be closer to Lucretia’s, so he was looking over her right shoulder and the other two were standing behind. Magnus put both hands on the back of Lucretia’s chair, leaning over her entirely to get a birds-eye view.

She pulled the journal on the left closer to her once they were settled, to show them the page. “It’s not actually going to be legible to you all, because I write in shorthand, but you can see my sketches, and I can tell you what things say.”

She was right: the page was functionally illegible. Her flowing handwriting was compact and neat, a strange collection of slides and slashes and swirls. Johann knew they were simplified letters, but he couldn’t one hundred percent make the comparison between the alphabet he was familiar with.

“That’s… beautiful, Lucretia,” Darry murmured, his hand reaching out to delicately touch the edge of the page. “It reminds me of my notes, in a way. I don’t think a single other person can read my notation. Does the other journal match exactly?”

Lucretia’s fingers twitched slightly as he brushed the paper, as if resisting the urge to rip the book away, but she nodded at his question and slid the journal on the right closer so he could compare the two. “Not quite _exactly._ I could never get my right hand to be as neat as my left, but I don’t accidentally skip letters anymore.”

“So what’s this page about?” Magnus asked. “This is the one you were just writing, right?”

Lucretia hummed, bringing one slender finger up to trace along a line as she translated it to common for them. “It summarizes our meeting and conversation, mentioning the speculation about the interview process and then moves to note down Darry’s story about his terrible department head. I was about to make a note about different companies and how they structure their supervisor/supervisee relationships when Magnus noticed what I was doing and called me the fuck out.” She finished with a small smile touching her lips, apparently amused by her own transcription.

Johann was reminded then of the thing she had muttered that had initially drawn their attention. “You said something about never confronting your boss the same way. What was that?” He spoke gently, hoping he wasn’t stirring up unpleasant thoughts. “Isn’t your boss your dad?”

Lucretia’s face went slack, a neutral mask falling across her features. “Yes, my father is my boss. He’s… exacting in his expectations from employees. It can be stressful sometimes to... balance what you want to write, as opposed to what he wants to read.” When she paused, she seemed to think very carefully about the words she was choosing.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Magnus said, his voice dropping to a more gentle tone as well. For all his bluster, he seemed to have enough tact to recognize a delicate subject when it landed in front of him.

Johann watched Lucretia carefully compose herself into having a more amiable expression as she busied herself with flipping back a few pages in the journals. “Yeah. Here, I do sketches also sometimes.” On the new page before them was a small pencil drawing of a generic employee in the IPRE uniform, complete with a shiny badge, as well as red pencil lines illustrating the fancy envelope they all had received in the mail. Darry and Magnus both oohed over the depiction, noting the subtle shading and attention to detail.

Johann kept his eye on his half-sister’s face, watching her react to their praise, observing how the tension left the skin around her eyes and shoulders as they all allowed the conversation to drift away from employment. Darry asked about her art skills, where she learned and her favorite subjects to sketch (people, mostly).

She let Magnus flip a little further back, and he found a two-page scene she had drawn which appeared to be a snapshot of a moment from a day spent at the local park, one Johann himself frequented when working on compositions. The recreation of the scene was quite incredible even in the pencil grayscale, with various city folks meandering by, enjoying what looked like a beautiful end-of-summer day. September was fast approaching.

“Damn, Luce, you should really do something business-y with your art!” Magnus grinned, after a few minutes of the trio perusing through her journals. In that time, two more people had been called out for their interviews, those preceding them returning to their tables. “Lots of folks would love to get a sketch drawn by you.”

Lucretia blushed slightly at the praise. “Well, thank you, Magnus, that’s sweet of you to say. I don’t usually do anything with my drawings, they’re just for myself. Writing is my passion.”

“What do you write?” Magnus asked, straightening and moving back to his seat at the table. Darry followed suit, sitting and propping his head up on his elbows. Johann didn’t quite feel like scooching his chair back all the way to his spot, so he compromised with himself, shuffling about halfway back and leaning over, pulling his violin case over to be resting in front of him instead of his old spot.

“Well,” Lucretia responded, flipping the journals closed and stacking them neatly on top of each other, “These days I do a lot of ghostwriting. Memoirs and autobiographies, and the like. It saves people the trouble of telling their own story.” She took a breath and made her thumbs and forefingers into L shapes, adjusting the books so that their corners met up perfectly, their bindings lining up with precision. “I’m honestly here somewhat for that reason. My father suggested I apply. He feels that the IPRE crew will be the story of the century, so he wants someone to get on the inside of that story and tell it.”

Magnus frowned. “You don’t want this for yourself?”

Lucretia shrugged, glancing up at them before returning her gaze to the journals. She rearranged their stack a little bit, fidgeting nervously with them, likely to give her hands something to do. “I mean, I agree with him. I think this will be a fascinating experience worth telling the world about, and I’d be honored to get the chance to do it.”

“Right, I get that,” Magnus replied. “But, like—” He paused, thinking, laying his hands flat out on the table. “Okay, like this: I wanna get the job because I think, like, I’m just really strong and would be good at protecting or other strength stuff like that, which might be needed at some point? But I also think seeing the planar universe would be the most amazing thing in the whole world, just for myself, and I also bet the crew they choose would have to also be really amazing, and I want to have people that amazing in my life! Don’t you want something like that?”

Lucretia didn’t answer his question right away; instead, her fingernails traced the pressed gold lettering on the leather cover of the notebook on top. She stared at the journals with a strange intensity. “I mean, I suppose so, yes,” she murmured, but her heart didn’t seem quite in it.

Magnus’ eyes searched her face. He didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, though, and he turned to Darry. “What about you? Why do you want the job?”

Darry couldn’t hide his grin as he responded, his slightly gravelly tones gaining a measure of energy to them. “The science has got to be fucking incomparable, honestly. Planar studies and necromantic studies often intersect, academically, and I would love to see how the Light of Creation stands in all that. The chance for me to see how the Bond engine is powered, how it fits into the planar universe and manipulates the threads that make it tick? There’s nothing better than that.”

As Lucretia listened to this passionate explanation, her face seemed to fall increasingly blank with each word. Johann became suddenly concerned that the conversation was drifting too far into things too personal to bring up at a first meeting like this. He knew that were it just he and Lucretia, he probably would have settled into a comfortable silence a while ago. Then again, he supposed he didn’t really know her any better than the others, but he saw something in her that he recognized in himself. Perhaps they had more in common than he had thought, even after growing up apart.

“Johann, what about you?” Darry’s voice broke him from his observations. Johann didn’t respond right away, taking up his violin instead and adjusting the intonation more, drawing the bow across the strings to check the tune.

“I guess…” He paused after a moment, pointing to the two men with his bow. “You two have pretty distinct reasons. I just…” He glanced at Lucretia, who was watching him with little emotion, and sighed, turning his eyes to the ceiling to formulate his thoughts. “I’ve never really done anything that great? Like, she’s got books,” He swung the bow around so that it indicated towards his half-sister, “and you’ve got papers,” then towards Darry, then finally towards Magnus, “and you just, like, you _are_ strong.” Magnus nodded graciously at the statement.

He then swung it around to himself. “I’m working a meaningless internship right now, and before that, I was in school, and I wasn’t really anyone there. And before, that, I was a kid on a small farm. And all I’ve ever had was my music, and shit, I’m not gonna fake, I’m pretty damn good at it. But it’s not just about playing well. It’s about making people feel things, and, and, y’know, inspiring them, like bards are supposed to do. And—” He paused, to take a breath, gathering his words together. “I guess, to sum it up, I just want to die someday feeling like I used my music to do something good in the world. And the IPRE seems like a place where I could do that.”

The others were quiet for a moment after the small speech. Lucretia had a strange expression on her face, watching him with what looked like wide-eyed recognition, but with less comprehension. Johann returned her gaze, trying to suss out what she was thinking, but found her even less readable than before.

“Would you play for us?” Darry spoke up.

“What, right now?” Johann asked, tearing his eyes away from his half-sister and resting them on the doctor.

“Yeah, sure!” Magnus grinned at the suggestion. “I’d love to hear your stuff.”

At that same moment, the tiefling returned to the room, stepping up to the podium. She tapped on the microphone, leaning in and quickly reading out, “Magnus Burnsites! Follow me to your interfiew!”

Magnus groaned, standing quickly. “Shit, nevermind, so much for that timing. Could you wait and play for us when I get back?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess,” Johann shrugged.

Lucretia hummed, apparently finding her voice. “I’d like that. I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you play. Good luck, Magnus.”

“Cool, thanks! See y’all then!” Magnus waved as he hurried around the tables to leave through the double doors.

“Damn, he doesn’t seem nervous at all,” Lucretia exhaled a long sigh once he was gone, staring at his empty seat with a contemplative expression. “Wonder what that’s like.”

Darry nodded, shifting in his own seat to remove his blazer and place it on the back of the chair. “Yeah, I think the conversation we all’ve been having is the only thing stopping me from sweating through my clothes.”

Lucretia hummed in agreement. “What he said, about my reasons for being here…”

“Hey, I think yours is a perfectly good reason,” Darry responded quickly, holding out a hand as if to physically stop her from saying something disparaging about herself. “I bet you’re not the only one here who’s doing it for someone besides themselves.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it,” Johann spoke up. “You’re really fucking smart, too, like, I’m sure they have a position you’re perfect for that would let you write your books.”

“I don’t think Magnus meant to put you on the spot like that,” Darry continued. “He just… I guess he doesn’t have a filter.”

Lucretia’s face shifted to one of slight surprise, “Oh, no, I get what he was saying. The people they hire are probably going to be the people like Johann who have big dreams _and_ the shit to back it up.”

Johann barked a small laugh. “Here’s hoping I’ve got what it takes, musically, because I’m sure not bringing much else to the table.”

“I guess we’ll see when Magnus gets back, then,” Lucretia smiled at him, moving to reset her books open next to each other, picking up the pens again.

Darry added a ‘yep’ as he reached into his briefcase, pulling out a thick book, the spine reading _A Theory on Planar Physiogenetics._ He laid it out on the table, flipping to a dog-eared page and resting his face in one hand as he began to read.

The table fell into an amicable few minutes of silence as the three moved to do their own things, Johann going to his case and pulling out the small paperclipped stack of sheet music he had brought with him. His most recent piece was a composition he’d been tweaking on and off in the past few weeks since he’d first sent in his application. It was one of his more optimistic melodies, a cathartic exercise to channel his hope about getting picked for the crew. There was much to be done as it was nowhere near complete, but he contented himself for the moment with reviewing what was already there, softly humming the notes as he read, adjusting things with his pencil as he went.

The tall half-orc woman that Magnus had been arm-wrestling with earlier had been drifting around the room for a while, stopping at different tables and socializing with the various folks seated at each. Now, she ended up at theirs, a friendly smile on her face, slightly lopsided because of a jagged scar that cut across her right cheek.

“Hello, all,” she said, one hand raising in a half-wave while the other gripped the back of Magnus’ recently vacated chair. “My name is Gable. I thought I’d take the time and go around and meet folks.”

Her voice was low and husky, suitable for her size, and at a solid seven feet tall, she was one of the biggest people in the room. Unlike Magnus, whose energy was that of a large, cuddly dog, big in a way that invited closeness and warmth, she was big in a way that was slightly obtrusive, rough at the edges and somehow jagged.

Johann recognized in her eyes a similar guardedness that he saw in Lucretia. This woman had seen some shit in her life, and behind that friendly smile, there was no hopeful pretense about the kindness of strangers, not like Magnus seemed to possess. Johann’s eyes were drawn to the scars that decorated her arms like embroidery, with hardly an inch of skin unmarred by some sort of long-healed wound.

“Hello, Gable,” Lucretia responded, politely, and Johann glanced over and noticed her observing the half-orc’s appearance as well. “My name is Lucretia.”

“I’m—call me Darry,” the doctor stood halfway from his seat, reaching down to still hold the book open with gentle fingers, reaching over to shake Gable’s hand. She accepted with a small nod, and Johann saw a slight wince on Darry’s face as she gripped his hand, and as he pulled back and sat, he flicked his wrist slightly, flexing the fingers.

“Johann, hey,” Johann sent a small wave her way when she turned to him.

“Nice to meet you all,” Gable nodded. Her deep voice had an underlying scratch to it, like once, long ago, it had broken from shouting too much for too long, and never properly healed. It wasn’t harsh, just rough, like everything else about her. “Mind if I sit?”

“No, go ahead,” Lucretia replied. “Our friend just left for his interview, so the seat’s open.”

Gable nodded, taking the seat carefully. “So what brings you all here?”

The three went around as they had earlier, Darry mentioning his Ph.D. and his book, and Lucretia mentioning her profession as a writer.

“I’m working a boring ass internship to pay the bills right now,” Johann began. “Just filing or whatever, and I thought I’d give the IPRE a shot. Also, Darry here encouraged me to apply—actually, at the press release, where you bumped into me in line.”

Gable’s eyes widened slightly as she thought back. “Oh, fuck, yes, I remember you. Sorry about that, I was distracted. My son was at home and I had to get back to him.”

“Oh,” Johann waved it away with a flick of the bow. “It’s cool. Who would I be to get caught up about a nudge?”

“You have a son?” Lucretia asked, her hands a flurry across the pages of her journal.

Gable looked over to her. “Yes, his name is Vale.”

“You have a son,” Lucretia repeated. “And you’re applying for a two-month mission into the cosmos? Aren’t you worried about the risks, the time spent apart?” She wasn’t even looking up as she spoke, her gaze following her own hands as they scrawled, her tone musing and inquisitive. Johann wondered if she was even aware of how judgy her words sounded as they left her mouth, or if she found accusatory bluntness to be the best way to get someone to talk about themselves.

Johann looked back to Gable as she bristled, her brow furrowing. “I don’t think that’s—if you must know,” she replied, a measure of indignance in her voice. “I’m paying out of pocket for him to go a private school, and money’s running out. People don’t need bodyguards that often. The, uh,” She fiddled with a small silver pendant on a chain around her neck. “The crew program seems to promise a near lifetime guarantee of financial stability, even just for security and labor work, considering that this is history in the fuckin’ making, and I won’t pass up that opportunity to give him a good life. I’m not abandoning him.”

Lucretia looked up at this. She had a slight blush in her cheeks, and her voice was low, humbled perhaps by the sincerity and fervor in Gable’s voice. “I don’t mean to accuse, I’m sorry. I—”

“No, of course,” Gable continued, clearly miffed. “You just thought to imply that I’d rather fuck off into space than care for my boy.”

Lucretia opened and closed her mouth for a moment, the words not coming, her eyes like saucers, her hands stilling. Johann and Darry exchanged a look.

“This is a shitty first impression,” Gable grunted after a moment of watching Lucretia intensely. “If you want to try again, let’s do that.”

“Well,” Johann leaned forward, eager to change topics. “You said you’re a bodyguard. I’d be over the damn moon to learn where you got all those scars, likely a much more entertaining story than anything my dear eloquent half-sister can suss out of you.”

Gable met his eyes, one corner of her mouth twitching in a grin so quick he almost didn’t catch it. “Well, now,” she responded. “Those _are_ some stories.” She lifted her arms, holding them out in front of her parallel to the tabletop so that everyone there could see the full expanse of scars. “Pick one, and I’ll tell you how I got it.”

Darry, who was next to Gable, leaned close to evaluate the various rips and waves of her skin.

Johann set down his violin but didn’t shift closer. “Oh, I know which one.” He grinned, and gestured vaguely to his own face. “That gnarly motherfucker on your cheek.”

Gable did smile now, a devilish smirk. “Ah, excellent. This one,” She brought a hand up to gently run her fingertips down the puckered scar that crossed her cheek and shifted the corner of her lips. “This one was a protection job that went to shit. I was hired by this banker, yeah? Her money had been shifting weird ways for a while, so she got a PI to track down the source, and got me to stick with her until she found out who was pinching from her cache. Well, turns out, it was her husband.” She glanced around the table to gauge her audience. Lucretia was listening, silent and attentive. “And he’d been in it for a while, funneling money to keep a lover on the side. When she confronted him, he didn’t hesitate, he went at her with a blade, and—well, I did my job.”

Darry sucked in an impressed breath and let out a low whistle. “That’s… poor woman.”

Johann returned Gable’s grin. “Was it fun?”

“Fun?” Gable leaned forward slightly. “Hell yes, it was fun. Sometimes on jobs, I just sit around and look scary and that’s all a client asks for, but the fun ones are the ones where I get to _do_ something.”

“I love it. Tell another,” Johann gestured to her arms. “Your favorite.”

“Well, this other time, there was this bear—” Gable started, but was cut off by the doors sweeping open, the tiefling returning to the podium, summoning a halfling by the name of Francesca Cillif and depositing a startlingly upbeat Magnus back into the room.

“He seems perky,” Lucretia mused, stretching her neck to watch Magnus weave around the tables towards them, “That’s good, right?”

“I dread to see him look depressed,” Johann replied, as Gable rotated in her seat to look as well, draping an elbow over the back of the chair.

“Hey all!” Magnus waved as he reached the table. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much in my absence, I’ve been schmoozing. Gable, I see you’ve met my other new friends!”

“Please tell me schmoozing is a good thing,” Gable responded, rising from the chair and stepping lightly away to offer his seat to him. “I’m hoping the Captain’s the kind of guy who wants to be impressed. And yeah, we’ve been...” she glanced at Lucretia, hesitating for a small moment. “Chatting.”

“Some chatting better than others,” Johann quipped, retrieving his instrument. “But seriously. Was it okay? Was he chill?”

Magnus made a small dismissive gesture with his hand as he sat. “Oh, yeah, I mean, the guy’s got zero tolerance for bullshit, but he can recognize talent. He says he thinks I could have a mind for engineering. And he’s nice.” Behind him, Gable leaned on the back of Magnus’ chair to stay in the conversation. Johann could have sworn he could hear the metal creaking with the combined weight of the two muscle-bound individuals.

“Do you like machines?” Darry asked. His book had fallen closed at some point around his hand, his fingers still between the pages marking his spot.

“I mean, sure?” Magnus shrugged. “I’ve fixed some shit in my spare time. Just small things, though. I mentioned on my application that I’m like, a hands-on, you know, kind of guy, so maybe that’s part of why.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Lucretia mused.

“Speaking of hands-on,” Magnus turned his conversation to Johann with a sing-songy voice. “You-uu promised you’d play for us.”

Johann cleared his throat, blushing as the attention of the table rotated to him in one fell swoop. “That,” he pointed to Magnus with the bow. “Is a fuckin’ sorry excuse for a segue, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Don’t play coy, Johann,” Magnus grinned, sly. “You just don’t want to prove you’re the best in the room in case it makes the competition try to sabotage you.”

“No doubt,” Johann replied, pursing his lips, “Nobody in here could give less of a shit about sabotaging me.”

“All the more reason, then.”

With a sigh, Johann glanced down at the pages of the composition he’d brought with him, hesitating.

“Come on, Johann,” Lucretia spoke up, her voice soft. He looked over to her and saw a vulnerability in her eyes that he briefly wondered might be reflected in his own. “I’ve never seen you play.”

For a moment, all Johann could think in response was ‘well, whose fault is that?’ but he dropped that train of thought before it left the station on the way to his mouth. It wasn’t either of theirs, that’s for sure. He probably would have liked having a sister, a proper one. Then again, maybe this was his chance.

Fuck it. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Okay. Okay. I’ll play.” Before he could overthink himself into oblivion, Johann shuffled through the papers to reach the beginning of the song. After attempting to prop them up on his violin case and failing and then borrowing the three books at the table to help, he set his violin under his chin. He didn’t need to, but he spent a moment tuning the instrument a final time to procrastinate, realizing with a cold sweat that he’d never played in front of more than two people before, and here he was, about to share an unfinished composition with a room full of strangers.

Maybe that was what he needed? Maybe a room full of strangers, who he was sure he’d never meet again, were the ones he could share with? Maybe. Only one way to find out.

Bow touched string, and Johann’s eyes fell closed, and he played. He had set up the papers, sure, but honestly, he hardly needed them, except to remind himself of a few note changes he’d made in the last few hours. But no, the song was already something he knew like a friend, better than anyone else in his vicinity, and it was like sinking into bed and feeling protected by the heavy duvet.

The melody jumped with the uncertainty of his setting, his piqued curiosity in hopping notes, and an undercurrent of low, thrumming nervousness and excitement infused the song with deeper emotion. Not his best composition, but the further he got into it, avoiding the stares of his companions, the more it grew on him. This moment, he realized, _was_ the right one to share it, as he’d been inspired by the idea of a moment like this when he’d first put pen to paper after dropping the application in the mail those weeks ago.

He drifted and dazed through the piece, nearly forgetting his surroundings until he reached the last note, at which point everything came back into sharp focus with a strange rushing sensation in his stomach. He opened his eyes to meet Lucretia’s, taking in the complicated mess of emotions on her face with confusion. Why did she look upset? Wasn’t it good enough?

“Holy _shit,_ Johann!” Magnus breathed out a soft exclamation, tearing Johann’s attention away from his half-sister. “Dude, that was beautiful!”

“Oh, man, that was so good,” Darry nodded in agreement. “That was really pretty.”

Johann swallowed, blush rising in his cheeks. He suddenly wished his last name didn’t fucking start with N so his could be the next interview. “Really?”

“Hell yeah, don’t you think so?” Magnus had a dumb grin on his face, and Johann would have probably found it irritatingly belittling if he wasn’t so flattered. Also it was a cute grin, he couldn’t argue with that.

A small smile grew on his own face at seeing how much Magnus enjoyed the song, and he regretted only bringing one piece with him. He could probably play another, just from memory, but…

“That was fucking amazing, Johann.” Lucretia spoke up now, her voice strangely emotional, and he looked back to meet her eyes. “You’re an artist, truly. You shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

He didn’t quite know how to respond. The compliment didn’t sound right in his brain, but he also didn’t know how to dismiss it when it seemed to mean so much coming from her mouth. “I… thank you, Lucretia.”

He disassembled the makeshift stand for his papers to keep himself from having to look her or the others in the eye and made to put the instrument away, but suddenly, it occurred to him that the room was quieter than it had been before he had begun to play. Looking up, he realized that the few other instruments that had been also providing a cacophonous soundtrack had fallen silent, and at most of the tables in the room, there were people staring over towards his table, conversation lulled. A scattered clapping began at one, and then a tiny applause, and then _real_ applause, and the folks sitting with him exchanged glances with each other, and began to clap as well. He inhaled a sharp breath, panic and confusion overtaking him as he watched and heard the noise spread through the room, eventually petering off and the conversation returning to normal. In the back of his mind, he noticed that Gable had gone, possibly called to her interview, and then it became clear how little he’d paid attention while playing.

“Fucking kill me,” he murmured. “Strike me down dead.”

“Embarrassed?” A pitchy voice at the table to the right reached Johann’s ears, and he looked over to see a lanky middle-aged emerald tiefling rising from his chair with a guitar slung over his shoulders. “I would be, with a pretentious instrument like that.”

Johann didn’t quite know what to make of the comment, blinking as he tried to process. It seemed the other three at his table didn’t either, because a chorus of confused protests fell on his ears, and after a moment, he found his voice again. “What—are you shitting me?”

“You heard me,” The tiefling drawled, stepping closer. He had a simpering smile on his face that Johann felt a real itch to slap away. “That thing’s an antique, you gotta learn to play something more versatile, bro.”

“This was a gift, asshole,” Johann snapped, the violin held close to his chest. “And I wouldn’t lug around something twice it’s size if I was planning to voyage into space. What’s your problem?”

The tiefling’s grin widened. His voice was syrupy with condescension. “Oh, I mean, I just think you should see how the pros do it. You’re, what, 17? I’m sure your instructor gave you that piece to play to show off. Look,” he made his way over to the table and hopped up on the surface. Johann leaned back and scooted his chair away, and beyond the tiefling, Magnus and Darry let out noises of indignancy. “I’ll just show you something I wrote myself.”

“Who do you think you _are?"_ Lucretia spoke up, not bothering to camouflage her bafflement at this cocky ass approach.

“I’m Waan,” The tiefling replied, pulling a guitar pick from his pocket and preparing to play. “Waan Der Wal. Anyway, here’s my song, Oasis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took me a hot minute to finish. once again, i underestimated a) my verbosity. i just am out here never shutting the fuck up or being concise; b) my need to be procrastinating on real work to write; and c) how much writer's block can crush a scene even when it all seems clear in the outline. once again, this chapter had to get split up because i wrote a TON and still hadn't covered everything i outlined. so i'm tweaking it just a smidge.  
> anyways................................. if you read the last line of the chapter with the amnesty stinger music build up and say that last bit in the pause and then cut to the amnesty theme, you'll have a clear picture of the kind of shenanigans i had in mind when i wrote it. hell of a cliffhanger, i know, i promise this is a serious story. i just saw an opportunity and i couldn't let that shit pass me by.
> 
> i really gotta shut my mouth. please leave a comment if you have thoughts! i'd love to hear how people feel about where this is going! 
> 
> luv y'all
> 
> \- verlaine


	4. the people walking by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johann plays a tune and bonds with his neighbors.

Johann couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This asshole of a bard was sitting on his table, strumming a song on a guitar that had such a simple fucking chord progression that it made the alphabet song sound like fantasy Bach. And he was claiming it to be better than Johann’s own composition, unfinished and rough-hewn as it was, just for the sake of… what? Originality? Completion?

No, that would not do. He wouldn’t stand for that. He was still riding the high of his past performance, and he felt incredible. He wasn’t about to let this dude step all over that moment. Johann glanced around his table and to those beyond, meeting the eyes of his friends, and then strangers too, seeing various levels of confusion and indignance in the expressions of those who knew him. Magnus looked like he was having a fucking aneurysm, Lucretia looked unexpectedly thunderous, and Darry had an expression of pure puzzlement that was nearly comical.

Lucretia opened her mouth as Waan’s song twiddled on, and let out a few choice words that for her seemed both entirely out of character, and were also, unfortunately for the readers, fundamentally unprintable. Johann snorted, and she looked to him and made a soft motion with her hands, like a push, encouraging him with an earnest look to do something, dude. He hesitated, recalling that he’d only brought one composition with him—stupid, stupid. Why didn’t he consider that he might need to play something finished? He might need to impress Davenport, and he only had one fucking composition, and it wasn’t even done?

That would have to be a problem for later. What did he know by heart? Johann filed through his brain as he put his violin to his chin. Too many ideas cropped up, too many completed pieces that he could use. Should he go with something loud, high energy? Something subtle, sweet and pleading?

Fuck. Fuck, _fuck._ This was too high-pressure. He wasn’t used to working so on the spot like this! This is why he didn’t play for people.

Okay, fuck it. Just one note. Start with a random note, and then one of his pieces will come to mind that begins with that note, and he’ll just go from there.

Could he do that?

Well, only one way to find out.

Bow met string, and what came out was… D major. Alright, fucking, let’s _do this._

Johann leaned into the song his hands chose, one he’d written one thunderstorm-drenched summer afternoon. He’d been trapped inside for the sake of not getting his violin wet, thought all he wanted to do was stand out on the porch in the pouring rain and play, the rain straightening his curls.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see or hear if anyone reacted to the occasional missed note that he caught a second too late. It’s okay, it’s not like anyone would fucking notice, since he wrote it and damn it, he wrote it better than anything Waan Der Wal of all people could play. The notes from the violin immediately clashed with the guitar, and Waan sang a little louder, but Johann zoned him out, feeling the rhythm in his hands.

Somewhere around him, he heard a murmur of excitement beginning to grow in the room, Magnus’s voice carrying a little above the rest. There was only one voice calling Waan’s name, but Johann didn’t have a problem drowning that out. The emotion was contagious; Johann had never done anything like this before, never tried to prove his talent against anyone—because why would he? He didn’t think anyone cared to hear it, didn’t think his abilities were even all that great. But he seemed to be proving Waan wrong and more than that, he appeared to be proving himself wrong.

A crescendo in his song was rapidly approaching, and with it he surged to his feet, caught up in the notes, remembering the lightning strike that had ignited a bush only a few feet from the farmhouse. He heard Lucretia cheer, and eyes closed, a grin split his face. Fuck yes, he was _doing it._

Waan’s song was petering out, reaching its end, anticlimactic and unremarkable and droning. Johann’s song was almost done too, but his hands had chosen well; this song ended on a high note of thrill as the bush caught fire and thunder crashed around the sky, and Johann put down his violin and rushed out onto the porch to watch lightning arcing across the clouds like electric ribbons shooting from a cannon and—

And it was done. Johann let his arms fall slack, and his head tilted back, eyes still closed, breathless. His table was cheering, other people were cheering, and fuck, he hoped they were cheering for him, but even if they weren’t, that was so much _fun!_

A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into an all-encompassing hug, and there was Magnus, laughing in his ear. Johann opened his eyes when Magnus stepped back, to see Lucretia laughing as well, thrilled and clapping, staring at him with a grin that—that he realized was really similar to the one he saw in the mirror every day.

Darry was talking to Waan Der Wal, whose emerald features were turning a ruddy brown with fury. And yeah, Darry looked like a fucking accountant, like the blandest oatmeal on the planet, but at this moment, hands on hips, brow furrowed with sternness and resolute determination, gesturing for the tiefling to go back to his own table, he reminded Johann of his own dad. It suddenly seemed a lot less strange to him that Darry might have argued in defense of a fucking spell component for three hours.

This strange, impromptu bard battle seemed to have raised the levels of conversation and excitement in the conference hall to an unusual degree because it took Johann and everyone else a solid minute to quiet down enough to realize that someone was leaning against Johann’s table.

It was Captain Davenport. Propped up against the table with one hand, fingers drumming on the surface like a military tattoo, the other hand resting on his hip, he stared towards Johann and Waan Der Wal with an irritated expectancy. The lilac tiefling was standing behind him, holding the clipboard to her chest, a pleasant and somewhat absent smile on her face. Johann could read her nametag now, and it registered with mild surprise to him that apparently, her name was literally Purple. A few people back in the crowd, there was Gable, seemingly returned from her interview.

When Davenport and Johann made eye contact, Davenport cleared his throat, and without thinking, Johann’s knees gave out, and he plunked down in his seat. Magnus took another step back, and Darry, who had a finger jabbing against Waan’s collar, froze to stare at the Captain. Lucretia, standing on the other side of the table by her seat, brought her hands together behind her back to wring nervously.

Waan, who seemed consistently to be running on only his most self-occupied brain cells, swiveled his head to make direct eye contact with the Captain, a simpering grin smearing across his face. “Captain, what, uh, what brings you to our table? You like my music?”

Davenport’s eyebrows rose with incredulity, mouth settling in a grim line. “Well,” he replied, voice deadly serious, leveling Waan with a look of withering coolness. “I figured since you decided to waste my time by not coming to your interview when your name was called, I’d do you the favor of not wasting the rest of your day. If you aren’t going to take this seriously, you’re free to leave.”

Johann experienced the sudden sensation of his throat closing up and his heart plummeting into his stomach. He heard Lucretia’s sharp intake of breath and looked to Waan in time to see the tiefling’s emerald skin lose any ounce of vibrancy that it might have once possessed, stammering for a moment as Davenport continued.

“What, may I ask,” the Captain went on, shifting to stop leaning on the table and to instead take a step towards Waan, “Was so essential as to take priority over your interview? I don’t believe the Institute asks much of all of you beyond being qualified and being professional, given the immense responsibility of the position to which you are applying. Do you think, Mr. Der Wal, that you can be both of these things?”

Waan nodded, clutching his guitar close like it was his own child. “Yes, sir. I was just playing one of my many songs, sir, I’m a bard.”

“Is that so?”

Waan nodded.

Davenport gave him a long, evaluating look, and then just for a moment, shifted his severe gaze to Johann, who upon meeting the Captain’s eyes felt the sudden urge to cry or throw up, or both. If he’d fucked up his chance to even interview, he’d never forgive himself. He wanted this more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. He felt all eyes on him and just wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

“You two,” the Captain looked back to Waan and spoke louder now, his voice echoing throughout the conference hall and capturing the attention of the room, though his height made him difficult to see for those on the outer reaches, “Are two of four bards in this room. Of the thousands of applicants, very few were bards like yourself, and as you can see, I was selective even among those. If one of you is chosen, a bard would be instrumental for diplomacy, crew morale, and support magic, for which they would receive training from the Institute. That is a valuable position, and the task of filling it is one I do not take lightly. I hope you feel the same. I don’t need a bard on board. Do not assume that your position is guaranteed.”

Davenport paused for a moment and then moved to the podium, addressing the entire room. “That actually goes for every single one of you, as the two other captains are currently meeting with their own selection of applicants as well. I could potentially choose a crew from one of them. So do not treat this opportunity as a joke.”

With that, he gave Johann another glance, turned, and left the room, the doors shutting with finality. Purple waited until he was gone to turn to Waan Der Wal, who was looking positively pastel with terror. “Come with me.” She waved to him, and he slid down from the table, gathering his things, and the two filed out as well.

The room was silent with shock for a long moment. Johann himself was cycling through the five stages of grief, sure he’d just blown his chance completely.

He’d be called for his interview and then Purple would just lead him to the exit and tell him he was free to leave and that his playing ruined his chances and Davenport decided he wasn’t good enough to be on the crew and he was just going to be an office temp for the rest of his life and thank god he hadn’t told his roommates about this yet so nobody would know his shame except Lucretia and they weren’t that close, right, so he never needed to speak to her again if he didn’t feel like it and she would probably be ashamed of him anyways especially since with her talent she was no doubt going to get a spot because she was organized and skilled and would have known not to get into a stupid music battle and oh my gods Johann was the worst bard on Tosun for sure how could Davenport have even considered him at all and—

“Johann!” Magnus’ voice broke through his silent spiraling. “Dude, breathe. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

Johann’s eyes came to focus, and he suddenly took in that everything was settling. The conversation had slowly begun to perk up again around the room, albeit a little more subdued, and mostly only on the subject of what had just happened. His table was watching him with concern, Darry and Lucretia both sitting again and Magnus standing by Johann’s chair still, hand resting on the back of it.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Johann muttered, irritable, flipping open his violin case and putting the instrument away carefully.

“No the fuck you’re not,” Lucretia responded, her tone fervent, reaching out a hand and lightly touching Johann’s wrist. “You were sticking up for yourself, everyone saw that, and Waan was a complete asshole making himself seem so talented and amazing like the best musician in the room. It’s not your fault he ignored her calling his name to play a song that would make fantasy Jimi Hendrix want to curl up in a ball and cry.”

The comment pulled a shocked laugh out of Johann. “Did he really ignore her or did he just not hear her? I had my eyes closed, I thought someone was cheering for him in the crowd.”

“Oh, he ignored her,” Darry responded. “I saw, he looked right at her and kept playing.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice that,” Magnus looked surprised as well. “But I was listening to Johann playing, so,” he shrugged, then pointed to Johann as he moved around the table and back to his seat. “Awesome, by the way. You’re a real—a real, uh. I’m blanking on a comparison.”

Darry snorted. “I don’t know, I don’t know a lot of famous classical musicians either, but there’s no way he’s not at that level.”

“How long have you been training in the violin?” Lucretia asked, her journals out once again and her hands scribbling away.

“Oh, I haven’t,” Johann replied without thinking, focusing on zipping the violin case closed. He sorted his papers as he did, slipping them in the outer pocket. Might as well be prepped to leave when Purple comes and tells him he’s a total disgrace and failure and embarrassment to the IPRE.

“Not at all?” Lucretia looked incredulous.

Johann met her eye, expression deadpan. “Oh, yeah, and I made that song up on the spot.”

“You’re fucking with us,” Darry immediately replied, as Lucretia’s eyebrows rose so quickly it looked as if they might fly off her face.

“Well—” Johann began, wiggling his hand in an ‘ehh’ kind of motion.

Lucretia cut him off, her voice peaking with astonishment. “Johann, are you self-taught?”

Johann pressed his lips together. He always had to decide whether or not he told people the extent of his musical ability. Some people found it pretentious and off-putting, and he was worried they’d think that, considering they’d just been clearly bothered by Waan for making himself seem like the most talented person in the room. “Yeah? Kinda? It’s not, like, a big deal or anything.”

“No teacher at all?”

“Well,” Johann started again, before hesitating. “I mean, my dad got me lessons for the guitar when I first started but I didn’t need those for very long, I sort of just figured it out too quickly. I would practice after the instructor left and skip lessons, so he got me the violin which I did on my own, and then there was a piano at school, and I figured that out too, and then I borrowed my friend’s trumpet, and—”

Once again, Johann was cut off, this time by Magnus. “Woah, woah, woah. Dude, how many instruments do you play?”

“Oh. Uh,” he looked to Lucretia, and then back to Magnus. “Like, most of them? I never counted, but I’m not too bad at most of the ones I’ve tried. Harps are weird, though.”

Lucretia stopped writing, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. Darry’s eyebrows shot up halfway to his receding hairline, and Magnus made a small choking sound.

“All by yourself?” Lucretia asked, voice soft. It didn’t sound like she didn’t believe him, which caught Johann by surprise. Usually, people were suspicious when he told them how much he could do.

“Uh, yeah.”

“And the songs?” She prompted.

Johann scratched behind his neck. “I… yeah, I wrote them. I write most of what I play.”

“Holy smokes,” Darry murmured. “So that’s why you’re here.”

Johann looked to him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lucretia hummed, the scratching of her pens writing beginning up again. “Well, obviously, it’s unusual to find someone who doesn’t just excel with one instrument. Bards are rare enough, let alone one so multitalented.”

Darry nods in agreement. “Did you tell them you play more than one instrument in your application?”

Johann hesitates, thinking back. Nearly a month after sending in the application, he could barely recall what had been on it. “I don’t think so, not directly. I think I said something like, I like string instruments best. I didn’t even think about it at the time.”

“Hoh, yeah,” Magnus laughed, amused. “Love the way you said that. Just casually—y’know, just forgetting most people don’t play enough instruments to have a preference.”

“I mean, sorry,” Johann felt a little defensive, surprised at how much they didn’t seem to resent his ability and still expecting them to cause a fuss. “I guess I’ve gotten kind of used to it, I’ve been playing since I was four.”

“Hey, no worries, dude,” Magnus raised a hand slightly to assuage Johann’s emotions. “It’s like, I’ve done all sorts of martial training. Sometimes it’s hard to remember where I learned certain moves, y’ know? I’m just that cool, and so are you, but, y’ know, with music.”

This threw Johann off entirely, and he realized with a small burst of joy that he had nothing to worry about. These were good people, they didn’t give a shit if he was the only one at the table who knew the difference between forte and fortissimo, let alone composed enough music to already have two binders full of his own work at home. He grinned, cocking his head slightly with amusement. “See, and I can’t imagine ever hitting someone hard enough to bruise, let alone anything else. You should be beating me up and shoving me in a locker, you fucking jock.”

Magnus let out a laugh that seemed to surprise even him, a loud barking noise, which turned into a deeper belly laugh. Lucretia and Darry laughed too, Lucretia’s full and happy, and Darry’s slightly gravelly but nevertheless genuine. Johann grinned at seeing their response.

“Damn,” Lucretia chortled out, after a moment, slender fingers of one hand covering her mouth as her eyes creased with laughter. “Damn, that’s killer.” She gestured to Johann, Darry, and then herself. “The three of us are a bunch of nerds, you guys. Shouldn’t Magnus be stealing our lunch money? Isn’t that the trope?” That caused another round of laughter around the table.

“Nah,” Magnus continued the bit, “I thought maybe I’d just make you all do my homework. Lucretia, I need you to do my essay on fantasy Charles Dickens. Darry, obviously, you’re writing my lab reports.”

Darry wheezed for a few moments, his hand slapping his knee, and holy shit, this guy just exuded dad energy. “Please,” he gasped out, “Please, how do you know so well how I got bullied in school? I wrote so many fucking lab reports.”

“You’re kind of leaking nerd all over the table, man,” Johann responded. “Also, you applied for one of the nerdiest jobs in the country, besides Davenport’s. This is a self-admitted crime.”

“Fair, though I think we’re all really laying the hypocrisy on thick. We’re all in the same position.”

“True,” Lucretia admitted with a nod. “And it would be nice if we all came out of this the same, one way or another. I can absolutely see the four of us working together on the crew.”

That sobered the mood slightly, an echo of the Captain’s words crossing all of their minds.

“I’m not counting my chickens,” Johann muttered. “I think I really beefed it with that disruption earlier.”

Lucretia frowned. “Again, I think Waan was the disruption. And if that stops the Captain from choosing you, I’ll tell him myself—we asked you to play for us.”

The conference doors slid open suddenly, and most of the people around swiveled their heads, everyone wondering the same thing. Fear boiled and was confirmed in Johann’s gut as Purple walked in with her clipboard with a distinct lack of Waan Der Wal at her side.

“Oh my gods, I think he really left,” Magnus whispered, as Purple made her way to the podium. “Do you think he chose to, or did they tell him to?”

“I hope it was his decision,” Lucretia responded with a sharp, nervous glance towards Johann. “I doubt they’d ask you to leave, Johann, but…”

“Yeah.” Johann acknowledged her unspoken words with a nod. “Yeah, that’s what’s been cycling in my head for the past ten minutes.”

Purple called for a Tyrio Ephriam, who turned out to be an aasimar paladin, nearly as tall as Magnus and not nearly as pleasant-looking. His face was grim and aged with experience and time.

“Two more letters, and then you’re up, Lucretia,” Darry commented as the doors slid shut.

“And then you, right?” She responded.

“Yeah, Hallwinter. Can’t wait to get it over with.”

A thought occurred to Johann. “Why is it,” he mused, “That Magnus seems to be the only combat-slash-protection oriented person here that looks like they’re genuinely having a good time, like, just living life? Gable’s nice but even she looks like she’s expecting someone to hit her at any moment.”

“I had a similar thought,” Lucretia acknowledged him with a nod. “Magnus is far more upbeat than most fighters.”

“You sure it’s not just that everyone’s on edge? Because I sure am,” Darry had flipped open his book again but wasn’t looking at the pages. “I keep rereading the same paragraph.”

Magnus shrugged. “I try to have fun where I can. Thus, the arm wrestling.”

With that, they settled into the same silence that had taken the table in Magnus’ absence. This time, though, Magnus was there, and it took him about a minute to get clearly bored and start fidgeting, before he excused himself to get food and meet other people.

Johann watched the other applicants for a while. He hadn’t expected to find company immediately upon arriving that morning, and he certainly hadn’t expected the company that was there to be Lucretia of all people. Though to be honest, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. None of this was what he imagined.

He looked to Lucretia for a long while, observing as she worked away, scrawling long illegible paragraphs into her journals and filling the pages quickly.

He’d spent years either not thinking of her at all or wondering what she was like, and what her opinion was of him. It seemed strange to be confronted with this mystery person and have these grandiose, high and mighty assumptions of her, and then find that she seemed to be so similar to him in so many ways. Was that from their mother? Was she like them? If so, why was she so distant and preoccupied with work, when she knew she had these two children with talents that deserved fostering and nurturing?

But she had done that, hadn’t she? She’d bought Johann half of the instruments he had back home. He only needed to ask, or hint at a desire to have them, and they’d arrive later in the mail with an apology for always being away. Though from what Johann could tell, Lucretia’s father was the key to the web of connections that were fostering her career, young as she was. He wasn’t sure of the role their mother played in her life.

He supposed all he had to do was ask.

“I can feel you watching me, you know,” Lucretia spoke up after about fifteen minutes, and Johann jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. He’d been watching her begin a sketch of him playing violin in one journal, and it was unexpected to see how she rendered him. He looked... at peace.

“Sorry,” Johann replied, leaning closer on crossed arms to get a better look at the drawing. “I’ve never seen this before. You know, seeing you at holiday shit just isn’t the same. I’m all nervous around the extended family, especially Mom’s. They’re all up in my business.”

“Me too,” Lucretia murmured, glancing up at him and studying his face for a second before continuing the sketch. “Everyone wants to know about my next book, wants to get an early copy of the manuscript because they think they get family perks, wants favors and oh-my-friend-is-writing-this-book-could-you-read-it-and-give-some-suggestions, since-I’m-sure-you-have-time-Lucretia-what-with-your-not-busy-schedule. I hardly have a moment to actually write or research or do anything my books actually need.”

“That’s why I don’t tell anyone about the music,” Johann replied dryly. “If the family got wind that I can play almost any instrument put in front of me I’d be treated like everyone’s personal minstrel.”

“Your music is lovely, though,” Lucretia paused to look up at him, sincere. “You should play for people sometimes. If you want, I’m sure I can help you find gigs. It’d be good work, with your talent.”

Johann made a sound of hesitance. “I don’t know if I want that attention. I want to make people happy, but also, like, I don’t know if I want to be recognized on the street or whatever. Getting paid to play would be nice, though.”

She pressed her lips together, returning to her drawing. “There are upsides and downsides to every situation.”

Johann hummed. “Can’t argue with that.”

“For example,” she paused for a moment, lifting her pen from the paper to give Johann a hesitant look. “Even if I don’t get this job, or you don’t get this job, or we both don’t get this job... I’d like to think that after this, you and I could stay more connected. If you want.”

Warmth filled Johann’s chest, and he smiled wide. He’d been thinking the same thing, but he didn’t want to suggest it if it would put her in the awkward position of wanting to say no but feeling a need to be polite. “Yeah. That would be tight as fuck.”

“Since they had us check in in our farspeech devices, here,” Lucretia hands him a pen and slides him the journal. “Write your frequency in the margin.”

Johann did so, careful to be neat and to keep his scrawl from touching Lucretia’s looping annotations. A thought occurred to him as he did so. “I’m free tonight, y’ know, if you want to, uh, get dinner or something, and catch up.”

The same warmth Johann felt seemed to grow in Lucretia’s own wide smile at the suggestion. “Yes,” she responded as she slid the journal back to herself, reading the frequency and then continuing to draw. “Yes, I’d like that. There’s a fantasy Olive Garden down the street if that’s your style.”

“Well, definitely not anything fancy, because like I said earlier, I’m running on internship money right now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Lucretia remarked. “It can be my treat if you need.” Looking up, she gave him a wry grin. “I guess, as the older sibling, it should be my responsibility anyway or something like that.”

Johann snorted. “Sure, whatever you want to call it. If it makes you feel better.”

At that moment, Purple returned to the podium. “Lucretia Gentileschi?” she called, squinting at her clipboard.

Lucretia’s grip on her pens tightened and then relaxed, and she quickly gathered her journals together and held them tight to her chest. “I hope this goes well,” she muttered. “Watch my bag?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Johann reached down and lifted her twin messenger bag and set it by his violin case. “Good luck, Luce.”

She did a small double take at the nickname, a bright smile spreading across her face. “Thanks.”

Then, she followed Purple out, the doors sliding shut behind her, and Johann was surprised to realize that even just after that small span of time, he didn’t want the seat at his left to be filled by anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK  
> BACK AGAIN  
> VERLAINE'S BACK  
> TELL A FRIEND
> 
> yes lads tis i, five fucking months later, but she's done! god this semester really tried to do me in but i couldn't leave y'all hanging like that so here i am with chapter 4! i'm posting from rome right now as i'm there for a class which is absolutely buckwild to me, so this is the international chapter.
> 
> i'm gonna keep this short and sweet. if you liked the chapter, give me some comments/thoughts/questions/what have you! schlap that kudos button, that subscribe, all that junk, because that's the good good validation that keeps me typing. thank you so much for reading!!!!!!
> 
> luv y'all,
> 
> \- verlaine

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr url is multiclassed, come chat w/ me there!
> 
> thanks to the TAZ fic writer's discord server, Kat, Bo, and Miamaru!


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